Scattered, Smothered and Covered: Why Waffle House Matters

I don't remember when my mom and dad started taking my brother and me to Waffle House on Saturday mornings. But I remember it being one of my absolute favorite things to do. The hard backed booths with their padded red vinyl cushions. The sticky, glass sugar dispensers and the sizzle of shredded potatoes thrown on grease that somehow magically transformed into a glorious, glistening, golden brown pile of hash browns that in my 20 some odd years on this earth I have yet to see properly replicated anywhere.

It was a staple of nutritional deficiency and a complete disregard for our arteries.



And it was heaven on a weekend morning.

As I've gotten older, Waffle House has become less of place to have a meal and more of a place to have a life. It's been the backdrop of 3am arguments and life-changing conversations with best friends. Its parking lot has seen the rise and fall of one of the most substantial relationships of my life, and when I came back from Jacksonville, terrified to go out into the world and do anything, I was still able to meet a dear friend at midnight at Waffle House and guzzle cheap coffee from the same iconic mug my mom and dad drank from when I was kid. Innumerable games of checkers have been played on grease-laden table tops and some of the most willing, listening ears belonged to the waitresses that worked the graveyard shift.

The waitresses, old and young, faces always deeply lined with a life of potentially poor decision-making, and voices invariably gruff from too many smoke breaks, are always willing to talk. Despite the fact that it's Christmas and they have to work. Despite the fact that your brain is shellacked with booze and you're just trying to consume enough fat and salt to stave off an inevitable hangover, they're always willing to chat. And Waffle House waitresses always, ALWAYS have a past. Whether you feel like listening or not, as soon as you saddle up to the booth, you're committed to hearing about pieces of it.

It's a place you can go and always feel like you have company, whether someone's sitting across from you or not. A little um, drunk? Come on in. Don't feel like getting dressed, or cooking for yourself, or showering? Fear not - at Waffle House, you're still likely to be the most attractive person there.

It's a church confessional for those of us who don't have dress shoes - just pajama pants and too many shots of cheap whiskey, and desire to talk to someone who doesn't know you at all. It's the cheat day for your diet.

And it's the absolute best cup of coffee you can get for $1.